


Dressed Up, Stripped Down

by timehopper



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Finger Sucking, Lingerie, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Multi, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: His heart beats as he thinks of what waits for him within the package. The shopkeeper had wrapped it, thinking it a gift for a girlfriend, and Ashe hadn't been brave or pedantic enough to correct her. She didn't need to know it was for him. Didn't need to know that he didn't have a girlfriend, and that all of the lingerie he'd bought from her was for himself.Ashe has a secret. One he fantasizes about getting caught with.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Dressed Up, Stripped Down

**Author's Note:**

> One of my pieces for Fodlan Secrets, an NSFW FE3H zine. This one is all about Ashe dressing up in lingerie and having some fun fantasizing about his friends. :3 
> 
> So as not to clog up the tags, I've decided not to tag each ship included in this, as most of them are only mentioned once in passing. Said ships include Ashe with: Sylvain, Ignatz, Felix, Ingrid, Dimitri, Dedue, Mercedes, and Caspar.
> 
> I collaborated with Miru to write this fic, and they created a gorgeous illustration, which you can be see [here](https://twitter.com/nastysoupp/status/1301160438164606977)!

Ashe sets the package down on the bed: a small, delicately-wrapped thing tied in pink ribbon and thin, translucent paper. He swallows as he reaches for it, taking the smooth, silky ribbon between his fingers and tugging it until it unravels. Slowly, carefully, as if the slightest amount of force will wreck the garment inside.

He knows it won't. This isn't the first time he's bought something like this, after all.

His heart beats as he thinks of what waits for him within the package. The shopkeeper had wrapped it, thinking it a gift for a girlfriend, and Ashe hadn't been brave or pedantic enough to correct her. She didn't need to know it was for him. Didn't need to know that he didn't have a girlfriend, and that all of the lingerie he'd bought from her was for himself.

He hadn't dared to hold it up against himself while in the shop, but now that he's alone, all Ashe can think of is what his newest garment might look like on him, how it might hug his modest curves and accentuate the parts of himself he's most proud of. What will the colour look like against his skin? This one is a deep, navy blue, so much like his regular clothing, and yet so different for how thin the material is. How translucent. How _revealing_.

He doesn't have any in this colour. He hasn't been able to find any until now; and so, when he'd seen this one, he'd known in that instant he had to have it.

The ribbon falls away, slipping out of Ashe's hand as one end of it falls to the bed. Though he had been careful in untying the ribbon keeping the small parcel together, he's much hastier in tearing apart the paper that hides his newest garment from him. It falls away, discarded and forgotten, and Ashe stares at the carefully-folded lingerie. Three pieces, two stockings, each article placed delicately one over the other.

He separates them one at a time and lays each one out before him. Ashe runs the rough pad of his finger over the lacy top piece, inch by tantalizing inch. The texture makes him shiver; he can't wait to get it on him, to feel it against his skin; and so he strips, shedding coat and shirt and belt and pants until he's completely naked.

He takes a deep breath. Lifts the top from the bed with reverence, holds it against his chest. He turns toward the mirror and smiles at the sight. It looks like it'll fit well, and the colour, just as he'd imagined, already looks good against him, the blue standing out against his pale, freckled skin, and the white trim further accentuating the contrast.

He puts it on.

The hooks click into place easily; the straps fit perfectly over his shoulders. He hardly has to adjust them at all to make the bralette fit comfortably, but he runs his fingers along them anyway, sighing as the silky smoothness gives way to sheer material and rough, delicately-embroidered lace. It feels like heaven against his skin and under his hands.

He plucks the garter belt from the bed with equal reverence, hooking it around his waist and letting the straps fall limp against his thighs. One brushes up against his skin as he bends over to pick up the matching panties, and Ashe shivers. He bites his lip, lets his eyes flutter shut. Goddess, he's already hard, even from so little.

He takes a moment to calm himself, to ground himself in the texture of the lace he rubs between his thumb and forefinger. It makes a tiny little _skritch-skritch_ sound as he folds it over itself and continues rubbing. It’s Soothing. Fascinating.

Ashe slips the panties on, one leg at a time, sliding them up slowly until the straps above the waistband _snap_ against his hips. The stockings follow, white nylon and blue trim cool and soft against his heated skin. He snaps the garter belt's straps closed over the lacy tops, and finally, finally, turns to look at himself in the mirror.

His breath nearly stops.

He looks... beautiful. Stunning. _Angelic_. Words Ashe has never used to describe himself before, but now, seeing himself like this, in such beautiful garments and perfect colours, he feels almost as if he can believe it. He reaches out, touches his reflection's fingertips, and asks, quietly, "Is that... really me?"

But it is, and a quick look down confirms it. Makes it _better_ , almost - the bralette frames his pecs perfectly, accentuates the swell that years of archery have endowed him with. He smiles, surprised and genuine, as he realizes that he really does look _good_ , and that he wishes he were brave enough to share this with someone else.

But no. Not yet. One day, maybe. For now, this is his secret, a pleasure he can only take in private.

Ashe moves backward toward the bed. Still facing the mirror, he sits, feet on the mattress and legs spread wide apart. He admires the curve of his blue satin panties, the way they frame his thighs and cover just enough of his skin to be tantalizing but nowhere near enough to be modest. They hug him in all the right ways, even as hard as he is now, with the head of his cock peeking up over the waistband. He touches it, smearing precum around the tip with the pad of his finger, and sighs.

He lets go. No point in getting ahead of himself, after all. There's plenty of time for that, and Ashe fully intends to enjoy his new outfit for as long as possible.

He leans back against the bed, no longer watching himself in the mirror, and runs one hand up to his chest while the other slides over his knee. He cups his pec, squeezing it and gasping at the rough texture of lace against his nipple. It feels good, so good, both for the tactile sensation and the taboo, and so he does it again, and again, thumb pressing down and fingers digging in.

He wonders if anyone else would be this firm with him. If they would touch and grope him like this, make him gasp and moan with steady hands and greedy lips.

Sylvain, he thinks, probably would. He would loom over Ashe, straddling his thighs, and whisper dirty little secrets in his ear as he massaged Ashe's chest. _Such a good boy_ , he would say. _Showing off like this for me. Go on, moan louder. I want to hear you._

Ashe opens his mouth and, without thinking, follows his fantasy's command: he cries out, louder than intended, and quickly snaps his mouth shut.

 _Please, none of that,_ the Sylvain in his fantasy says. _A filthy little slut like you should be heard as well as seen._

"Yes," Ashe says aloud. He takes a deep breath, allows himself to moan, low in his throat as he arches his back. Yes, that's better, that's--

 _So pretty._ This time, it's Ignatz admiring him, running a hand over his stomach that Ashe imitates. _If only I could paint you like this._

The thought draws a shiver from him, and Ashe sits up, biting his lip. Being painted like this... No, it won't do; people might see it, might know...

But that, in itself, is an enticing thought. He reaches down between his legs, strokes his balls through the fabric of the panties. What if someone _did_ find out? What if they caught him wearing this, or any of his other sets of lingerie, under his clothes?

He imagines himself at the training grounds, sparring with Felix or Ingrid. Ingrid would catch a peek of lace on his shoulder, demand what he was hiding, pull his shirt back until she saw the bra strap. She'd gasp, scandalized, but would run curious and enthralled fingers over it, and with those same dexterous fingers undo his shirt and cast it aside completely, until she could see just what it is he is hiding.

She would lean forward, kiss him between his pecs, slide her hands under the bralette's band...

Or Felix - Felix would tear his clothes off, throw him face-down against the ground. He'd crawl over Ashe, grab him by the hair, and tell him this outfit is unsuited for training. He wouldn't be able to deny how hard he is, though, nor how the sight of Ashe in nothing but lingerie turns him on; not when he's grinding against Ashe's ass so heatedly, so greedily...

And maybe Dimitri would be there, too, watching Felix have his way with Ashe. Maybe he's kneeling on the ground, touching himself, telling Ashe he looks beautiful like this, that he wishes he could see him in such finery more often.

He laughs at himself for that. Hot as it is that his Highness would want Ashe in such a way, 'finery' is not a particularly sexy word.

Ashe moves on. He switches his fantasy around, this time to the kitchen. He's not bothering to hide behind his regular clothing, and Dedue stands behind him, pressed up against his back. Firm hands grips Ashe's hips, and Dedue kisses his neck. _Gorgeous_ , he says. A man of few words, as always, but he doesn't need to speak. Not when he turns Ashe around and kneels to kiss the inside of his knees through his stockings.

Mercedes would appreciate the lingerie, too. Maybe she'd be wearing some herself, sitting on the counter with Ashe in her lap. She'd laugh into his shoulder, reach down and stroke his cock over the brim of his panties - just as he's doing to himself, now - and tell him _Goodness, you've been hiding this for so long. Why didn't you tell me before? I have so many nice outfits I'm sure you'll love..._

Ashe groans, swallowing the noise as best he can. Oh, he can just imagine all the fancy, frilly things Mercedes must be hiding in her closet. He doubts any of them will fit, but the thought is so enticing. To be able to see them, to be able to _try them on..._

He bites his lip to stop himself crying out again. No, no, as wonderful as that thought is, he'd rather focus on the here and now, on what he's already got. On what he's already wearing. The way it fits him so perfectly, how it highlights and accentuates everything he likes about himself: how it emphasizes his waist, how the freckles on his skin stand out next to the white lace and dark blue satin. How slender it makes his legs look, how broad his shoulders.

He brings his fantasy back here, to his bed. Now Caspar kneels at its side, lips pressed where Ashe's fingers stroke. Caspar kisses Ashe's perineum, slips his tongue beneath the panties and slides his tongue along it. He's a little bit loud, but Ashe doesn't mind; he likes the praise, likes hearing Caspar's voice in his head telling him _Fuck, Ashe, look at you, you're so hot. I could just eat you up._

"Yes," Ashe breathes, gasping as he takes firmer hold of his cock and starts stroking it in earnest. "Yes, Caspar, please--"

He pictures Caspar swallowing the head of his cock, and for a moment, Ashe considers grabbing the oil in his desk drawer to better imitate his fantasy - but in the end he decides not to, simply because he does not want to risk staining and sullying the lingerie. He's wet enough without it, anyhow, precum leaking steadily from the tip and easing the slide of his hand enough that he doesn't really need the extra help.

He tugs the waistband of the panties down, low enough to completely free himself. Ashe works his hand furiously over his cock, breath coming in short bursts as he does. All the while, he sees Caspar in his mind's eye, lips wrapped around him and hands playing with the garter belt's straps. With his free hand, Ashe fiddles with one, stretching out his leg and snapping the taut strap against his thigh. The sting is _delicious,_ and he whimpers at it, breath coming out as a laugh as he repeats the motion again, and again, and again.

Ashe falls back against the bed, head hitting the pillow with a soft _thwump_. He turns onto his side, still jerking himself off, and slips his fingers under the straps of his waistband, toying with them as he traces patterns on his own skin. He's getting close now, enough that he no longer needs the fantasy of his friends' praise, but he thinks of them anyway - of Caspar moaning around his cock, of Dedue or Dimitri or Felix behind him, sliding a hand into his panties and teasing at his entrance, of Mercedes or Ingrid or Sylvain or Ignatz telling him how good he looks.

Ashe sucks a finger into his mouth, rolls his tongue over it to wet it. He turns over again, moves to sit up on his knees with his head still resting on the pillow, and pulls it out, nice and slick. He reaches back, slides his wet finger under his panties, and presses it into himself.

He cries out again, muffled by the soft down of his pillow, and strokes himself harder, tighter, faster. He only needs a little bit more, just the slightest push, and then...

_Beautiful, Ashe--_

_Gorgeous--_

_Look at you, you look so good in this, so pretty--_

He comes in his hand, spilling himself over the sheets. Even in the zenith of his orgasm, Ashe is careful to move and position himself in such a way he doesn't get anything on the lingerie, and when he's done, he flops onto his back, rolling away from the mess he's made on the bed.

He stares at the ceiling, chest heaving as he comes back down. In the back of his mind, Ashe thinks of how tight the bralette is. It’s not constricting in the least, but the pressure is definitely there, enough that he can't forget about it, and enough that it just makes everything feel so much _better_ in his oversensitive aftermath.

He takes a few minutes to steady his breathing and gather himself. When he does, he reaches for a spare cloth, kept close to his bed in case he needs it. Ashe cleans himself up, wiping the last dripping remnants of his spend from the tip of his cock, and sighs as he sits up and tucks himself back into his panties.

He stands, discarding the dirty cloth, and walks back to the mirror. Ashe smiles at himself. His hair is messy and slick with sweat; his skin is tacky with it, too, but it's flushed and pink and pretty, which just makes the blue and white material stand out even more - even though some of it has slipped aside and been pushed askew in his intensity.

Still, he looks good like this. Humble as he might be, even Ashe is willing to admit that to himself.

He reaches down, adjusts the lingerie so it sits exactly where it should once again, and grins. _Yes,_ he thinks. _This was a good choice after all._

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, the illustration accompanying this fic can be found [here](https://twitter.com/nastysoupp/status/1301160438164606977)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this and think you might like to see more, have a chat, or would like to get to know me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r).
> 
> And if you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1355219789560471554). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥


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